


the week's been just okay

by orphan_account



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Existential Crisis, Family, Fix-It of Sorts, Guilt, Humor, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-03-20 06:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13711683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He's started considering it a rebirth.Old Erik is dead at the bottom of a ravine, where he belongs and New Erik is-New Erik is trying his hardest not to follow Old Erik into the fucking ground.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> work in progress not beta'd and its just me being emotional

He wakes up on a bed.  
  
Weird- considering he died on a cliff side.  
  
He's confused. And all of a sudden angry and worried and scared to go with that. He jolts up, and with nothing holding him back he almost flies off of the table. The room is- he can't tell if it's that half place where everything is purple and-  
  
He's not going to dwell.  
  
He's not a dweller.  
  
But there's purple everywhere anyway so it must be- it must still be Wakanda. Even after everything, T'Challa must have kept him alive. And he was so sure- so sure that he was fucking done. After everything.  
  
He stands, leaning his back against the table, drinking it all in. Trying not to be bitter about it. At least not yet.  
  
The kid he almost killed is staring at him from the side of the room, and he'll cross that bridge when he gets there. He's going to be crossing a lot of fucking bridges. He might as well get on with it.  
  
“You put up a good fight.” He keeps a hand on the table. Still too dizzy to be able to keep up right.  
  
“Hm.” She pulls something off of her wrist and whispers into it. And leaves. And Erik is left alone with his thoughts. A place he most decidedly doesn't want to. Where are his clothes?  
  
T'Challa, to his credit only shows up five minutes later, hands up in surrender.  “You're angry.”  
  
“Are you guessing? You sound like you're guessing.” He doesn't like clothing that's not tight and the only thing that he has might as well pass for a night gown. He's elbows deep in the closest cabinet looking for anything that could at least work as a belt.  
  
“Disappointed maybe.” T'Challa corrects.  
  
“Third time's the charm.”  
  
“Angry.”    
  
“Yeah.” Erik nods. “I'm fucking angry. I thought we had a heart to heart cuz.” He finally stares at him. “I thought- right- I thought you'd let me fucking die.”  
  
“It's not- technically my fault.” The King says and Erik looks away, seething. Scared and confused and seething. “You- ate the heart-shaped fruit. It's-” He swallows, audibly, and Erik turns back. “I thought about leaving you there but you might have thrown yourself off and-  
  
“Bloods a bitch to clean?” Erik walks- slowly and with purpose and not because he's worried he'll trip and embarrass himself. “You can't shoot me in the head?”  
  
T'Challa looks away, uncomfortable. Good. He deserves to be uncomfortable. At least.  
  
“I don't want brains on my walls.” They both twist their heads to look at the kid. “And you killed the only man who knew how to undo it's effects.” She crosses her arms.  
  
“Shuri!” T'Challa twists to her completely. “Not now.”  
  
“When else?”  
  
“Shuri!”  
  
Erik laughs. They stare at him and he can't help it. It's hysterics, maybe. At this point. It might as well be.  
  
This is what he was missing out on his entire life. An older brother and a younger sister and technology and family and health and no foster homes and no abusive adults and no missed meals and no scars and no murder. No years in the military trying to prove to someone or himself or someone what he can do. No years of travel to war torn nightmares, Afghanistan, Iraq, South Africa. They both stare at him like he's the crazy one until the laughing stops and the crying starts because it's- it's all too fucking much sometimes. You can't just make peace with your entire life and have it be worthless. Can't see his own father waiting for him on the other side and just leave him fucking hanging. Can't be ready to leave all of it behind. That fucks with a man. He can't be here. Can't be here anymore, with The King and his kid sister. And all of this.  
  
All of this shit.  
  
At some point T'Challa tugs him to his chest and even if Erik shoves him away, The King is right there, tugging him back. Erik gives up at some point, fingers hooking into his shirt and trying to- to- to something.  
  
“I'm sorry.” T'Challa whispers and Erik fucking looses it.

  
…

  
It's been a week, he thinks.  
  
Incoherent though it was- it's been a week. And between the panic attacks, which is embarrassing and he hates them more then anything in the world, and the nightmares, which are second only to the panic attacks, and the almost delirious state of having T'Challa hover over him and all of his guard and sister and mother and unending extended family.  
  
He's doing okay. The week's been okay.  
  
“There has to be some- in between.” T'Challa tells him at some point. “Between what you want and doing nothing.”  
  
“Oh just maybe huh?” Wakanda is beautiful and he's gotten used to staring. Staring at all the things he couldn't have until he almost- until he died once.  
  
He's started considering it a rebirth.  
  
Old Erik is dead at the bottom of a ravine, where he belongs and new Erik is-  
  
New Erik is trying his hardest not to follow Old Erik into the fucking ground.  
  
The week's been just okay.  
  
“This is a new experience for all of us.” Nakia says from across the dinner table which Erik notices is very not near The King but keeps his mouth shut because he was raised better then to rat.  
  
“Definitely.” Shuri, who decided almost immediately that she could take New Erik in a fight sits directly to his right, and plays with her bracelet. Tinkering.  
  
“People are dying.” New Erik says sounding very much like Dead in a Ditch Erik, and very much ruining dinner in the process. Let it never be said he can't multitask. “And y'all ain't doing much about it. That's all I'm saying.”  
  
“I want to start an outreach program.” T'Challa tells him the next day after no one talks to him for the recommended Erik Calm Down Time Period.  
  
“Okay.” Erik shrugs. “Good for you.”  
  
“I want you to help me.”  
  
“Excuse me?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shitty fake hoop is still there, a few feet away from him. 
> 
> “Bygones right?”

He's standing in Oakland in two days time. In front of the shitty apartment block he grew up in. The three of them are standing there, and it's all very- not nearly as bad as it could be. Should be? He guesses. At least he's back in his comfort clothes.  Erik remembers his dad more then he wants too.  
  
The shitty fake hoop is still there, a few feet away from him.  
  
His dad taught him how to play, and now they have a real hoop. Good for the kids, he guesses. Still just a touch jealous. Just a bit. A smidge. It's mostly numb now anyway. He doesn't think about Uncle James.  
  
“Erik?” He turns his head. Shuri is talking to the kids a few feet away, and T'Challa stares at him like he's expecting an answer.  
  
“I missed all of that.” He turns around, back pressed against the fence. T'Challa shakes his head. Disappointed or indifferent, Erik can't tell.  “What?”  
  
“It's not important.” T'Challa insists and Erik tilts his head down to keep the sun out of his eyes.  
  
“I was standing there when your daddy stabbed mine.” He points lazily. All of it takes up too much energy in the heat. “Staring at that.” He points at the ship then. “It was green, I remember. The underside was green.”  He's not sure if it was. It's not the most important thing of the night. It's not like The King will correct him.  
  
“...” Erik shrugs.  
  
“Bygones right?” He kicks off the fence slowly until T'Challa stands in the way of the sun. He doesn't mean it when he says it, but it's casual enough that maybe- Mm. T'Challa doesn't believe him. “Want to play?” The ball is by his feet where the kids dropped it a while ago.  
  
“..I've never-”  
  
“First time for everything.” Erik kicks the ball into his hands. A little flat but not the worst he's played with. “Unless you're scared of ruining your fancy ass suit.” He throws it at him and T'Challa catches it in his hands.  
  
“Erik-”  
  
“Come on cuz. Give the kid something to ruin your reputation with.”  
  
“She doesn't need any of my help to do that.” He tosses the ball into Erik's chest a little to hard. “And you're assuming you're going to win.”  
  
“O-h it's like that now?” He watches T'Challa tug his jacket off, watches it fall to the ground.  
  
“Just get it in the basket.” He points over his shoulder and Erik smiles at him. “How hard can it be?” Erik snorts and dribbles the ball a few times, till he hears Shuri and the kids stare at them instead of the ship, Shuri already recording.  
  
“We'll see, right?” He shrugs into a feint left and lurches past him, dunking it easily. Magic bullshit or not trained soldier or not, there's almost always a basket at a foster home. He's been doing this since he could say his name.  
  
And god if it doesn't feel good to dunk on a literal king.  
  
“I see,” T'Challa calls from the other side of the small court when Erik passes the ball back. “Psychological warfare is even ground.”  
  
Erik snorts, running a hand over his mouth.  
  
“Is he always this extra?” He calls over to Shuri a second before T'Challa rushes him. He reaches for the ball, arms outstretched before T'Challa arcs it around his back and into the net.  
  
“Only when he's sure he'll win!” She calls over, a massive grin on his face.  
  
“That's some shitty manners, your highness.” He checks him with a shoulder and walks over to get the ball. “What you wanna to play till?”  
  
“First to seven?” 

  
…

  
Erik wins the fourth game with a one-point lead and the kids lose their minds. The sun's already setting. Shuri's made friends with all of them by the time Erik and T'Challa are back on the ship, sweating and tired.  
  
“Never played before my ass.” He pushes him; it's inoffensive. “Don't grift me, cuz. It's bullshit.”  
  
“I really haven't.” T'Challa insists. “A fun game though. I see why you like it.”  
  
Lord only knows why he's so unrelentingly friendly.  
  
“It's nice to not think for a while.” He gives him an inch. “I'm a little rusty. Play me again in a week.”  
  
“I'll see about getting a court installed.” Erik stares at him as he runs away with the mile.  
  
“Of course you will. Joyride got a shower?” T'Challa points and Erik tracks off in the direction.  
  
He gets lost in the water, head pressed against the wall of the tiny stall, getting his hair wet. Why'd he do that? Why'd he do it four times? He's mad at himself for giving into that stupid childish impulse to be his friend. To try and figure out what growing up with him would be like. They'd basically be brothers, right? Wakandans are all way to close with each other anyway.  
  
He would have beat him as a kid. He wouldn't have beaten him as an adult. It's not like they would have been on an equal playing field, T'Challa all magicked up and Erik- N'Jadaka would have just been some- guard? Maybe? If they would even let him do that. He's not as smart as Shuri so what- he'd be in charge of some rhinos or some shit? Bullshit menial tasks, always looking up to his older, royal, older brother.    
  
He punches the wall and sighs, head pressing against the stall again. No matter how you cut it, he would still be screwed over. Screwed over and loyal or whatever he is now.  
  
Better.  
  
He's better.  
  
Old Erik wouldn't have played four games with his cousin. Maybe he would have. If The King's   head was the ball.  
  
New Erik... is conflicted.  
  
He gets out of the shower before the water gets cold and dries off pulling his jeans on and leaving his shirt off. It stinks anyway. And he's sure when they get back ho- when they get back to Wakanda they'll use some vibranium bleach to get it clean. No reason for him to stay gross.  
  
Shuri can't stop staring at his scars, but it's not like Erik isn't used to that.  
  
“Did all of them hurt?” They both know that's not what she really wants to know.  
  
“Depends on where you do it.” She keeps staring and he looks around the ship instead. “Getting the ash in hurt more than the cut.”  
  
“You packed them?” T'Challa appears out of nowhere and- well. Only so many places to go in the middle of the air.  
  
Erik shrugs.  
  
“Seemed like the right way to do it when I did the first couple.”  
  
He'd go back, after he killed them. Ripped something flammable off of them. He did it to remember and- when he was stoned out of his mind, he remembers telling his army buddy he did it to honor them. Sober Erik didn't need to honor anyone but his dad and – well.  
  
That went real great.  
  
The process wasn't hard after that.  
  
“Remembering my roots.” He says when he remembers he's talking to real people. “It's not like I knew Wakanda didn't do this.”  
  
“Some of the Jabari do.”  
  
“Does M'Baku?” Shuri calls from the pilot seat, and Erik can hear the grin on her face.  
  
“Shuri.” T'Challa chides, face turned away from both of them.  
  
“Shit- I thought you were trying to fuck the-”  
  
“I'm not trying to sleep with anyone.” T'Challa says very pointedly and Shuri snickers.  
  
“Cause I don't care if you're into dick right-”  
  
“Erik-”  
  
“Listen man- no judgment right- it's cool. I did black ops shit- everyone gets a little too lonely sometimes. Little touch starved.”  
  
“I'm not sleeping with him- I'm with N-  I mean I am-You know what. You  know what it doesn't matter.”  
  
“Hey man. I get it.” Erik puts his hands up, but there's a smile on his face now too. Shuri isn't even trying to hide her laughter anymore. “No shame.”  
  
“Listen-” He can't believe T'Challa's voice can even raise that high. “Listen.”  
  
“It's the year of our Lord 2018 man. Ruling can be so lonely.” He waves a hand, and Shuri laughs so hard the ship veers. "And I mean, whats the point of being king if you're not getting all the ass you want."  
  
“Really brother- I won't tell mother if you won't-”  
  
“Oh- Yeah- secrets safe with me cuz. Auntie won't hear a word.”  
  
T'Challa leaves from where ever he came from and Erik and Shuri lose their fucking minds. 

  
...

  
He only feels guilty about it late at night when he's supposed to be asleep in his room. His room. They didn't even bother putting him in a cell.  
  
He's too familiar.  
  
Maybe he should be this familiar.  
  
Maybe they're making up for lost time.  
  
But every time he thinks about how it feels- for weeks- how it feels to play ball and tease his cousin and laugh with his younger cousin- the guilt of his father weighs on him harder than any of those deaths ever could. He runs a hand over his chest, feeling every bit where it raises. Would all of them be ashamed of him now too? Do they care? Should they care what their murderer does? It's not like he needs the justification- it's not like he has moral hang-ups about the murder but-  
  
All of their lives were for fucking nothing if he's just going to be a cowed dog.  
  
Fuck.  
  
He doesn't sleep most nights. Too wrapped up in his own head, trying to figure out what he's supposed to be doing. Is he even a prisoner? Can he just leave? Can he just steal a jet and fucking leave? No one's going to stop him. Not anymore.  
  
He doesn't sleep most nights.  
  
How can he? When he sits and panics about every single choice, he's ever made.  
  
Maybe he should have stayed dead.  
  
Maybe he can-  
  
He doesn't sleep most nights.  
  
But morning always rolls around anyway. No matter how hard he tries to keep it at bay so he won't have more shit to make him stay up all night for.  
  
The UN meeting is a week.  
  
T'Challa asked him to help write the speech.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The UN meeting is tomorrow and it seems like the entire country is packed into one room to make sure another Erik situation doesn't happen.
> 
> Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahaha college is a fucking nightmare
> 
> never do it kids

“Is that the boyfriend?”  
  
He hovers by the door and waits for anyone he knows to walk by. The thrown room is packed, people rushing back and forth, trying to get T'Challa to sign things and explain things and argue about things. The UN meeting is tomorrow and it seems like the entire country is packed into one room to make sure another Erik situation doesn't happen.

Again.  
  
He gets it. He told T'Challa as much a few times. Eight times. The King felt the need to be clear that all of this was absolutely, entirely, with out a doubt not because of Erik and instead because of how worried everyone was about the newly opened borders.  
  
The second T'Challa turned away the head of his head guard told him that it was absolutely, entirely, with out a doubt, about Erik.  
  
Because of Erik.  
  
He gets it.  
  
No hard feelings.  
  
Okoye is the only person who still actively threatens him at every given opportunity.  
  
And he gets that too. He did ruin her marriage.

Well- if he wanted to get into semantics, it wasn't His fault and his fault alone but- yeah. Okay.

He ruined her marriage.  
  
Shuri finally shows up- late- and tries to hide from her mother before Eric leans down and whispers in her ear.  
  
She elbows him in the gut and covers her mouth to keep from shrieking. Erik figures he must have scared her.  
  
“You didn't scare me.” She insists almost immediately. “You Surprised Me.” She insists, while Eric puts a hand on where she hit him. “It's different.”  
  
“Uh-huh.” He stares at her. “Sure.”  
  
“It's different.” She insists, only slightly more indignant before threatening to deck him again.  
  
“I'm not arguing with you.”  
  
“Mm. Mmhm- Mm!” She turns her head before brushing to hide behind him as Ramonda walks past him, starring at something on her bracelet and out the door.  
  
“Did she surprise you too?” He asks and he feels Shuri pound his back with her fists a few times.  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
Erik smiles for a second before stepping away from her.  
  
“You're the worst.”  
  
“Oh tell me about it.” He goes back to staring at T'Challa and the huge dude he was talking too. He wasn't that much taller but he was just- big. “Is that the boyfriend?” He asks again, now that there's no chance of him Surprising Shuri.  
  
“Hm- Yeah. M'Baku of the Jabari. I don't think they're dating yet.”  
  
“Huh.” He tilts his head for a second, appraising him. Whatever they're talking about- T'Challa and M'Baku both turn to look at him at the same moment before T'Challa looks away and M'Baku doesn't. “Huh.”  
  
“What?” Shuri looks at them and then back at Erik. “Going to fight him?”  
  
“Nah- Just thought, with the savior complex and all he'd be into twinks.”  
  
“What's a twink?”  
  
Erik smiles.  
  
“Don't worry about it.”

...

  
  
The hotel room they have is nice. Erik remembers the last time he stayed in a hotel room this nice. He decided to treat himself after a good run- a bank robbery that went right in every single way possible. He got himself a pent house suite with Linda for a weekend. The bed was big. The bath was bigger. He'd broken all of it in in two day. Ever single surface. Sitting here- staring out the window- he almost misses her.  
  
It was rare to have someone so competent with him. Not insane or  weird or power hungry- just- smart and competent.

It's weird- the things you come to miss, living as a criminal.  
  
He grabbed a corner of her shirt before he got in the plane and ruined his old life. He hasn't made the scar for her yet and now he's wondering if he even should. It seems like such an Old Erik thing to do. It's still in one of the pockets of his pants- somewhere. Maybe when they get back h- to Wakanda. He has a few blank spaces left anyway.  
  
“Erik?”  
  
“You know you should start with that if you want me to listen to you.”  
  
He finally turns around to look at his cousin. He looks nice. Dressed well. A big scarf over one shoulder. He looks- almost terrified.  
  
“I did.”  
  
Erik shrugs.  
  
“Everett Ross will be there.” He looks serious. "We- I didn't mention you to him yet."  
  
“Who?”  
  
“He- He knows you. Killmonger. He knows Killmonger.” Distinctions are fun, sometimes.  
  
“He knows me.” Erik gets up from the bed, in urgent need of a wall to lean on to get adequately upset.  
  
“He- Yes. It'll all be- I'm assuming it'll all be alright but- well-” He's dancing on eggshells and it's just annoying him at this point. Sure he died once but it's not like he's fragile or delicate. T'Challa died once too and one one's holding his hand to go everywhere.  
  
“Your majesty, get to it. At this rate you'll miss the meeting.”  
  
“You're wanted in America aren't you?”  
  
“Ah.” He looks past him at the suit they picked out for him. He walks over to it- to at least do something while he slowly looses it. “Only technically.”  
  
“Only-” T'Challa chuckles and it makes Erik's breakdown almost slow to a halt. Almost. “Regardless- You'll be with me the entire meeting. So he doesn't get any chances to show- uh- ill will.”  
  
“Ill will?” Erik tugs on the crisp button down slowly. And it really is crisp. “Apprehending a war criminal is ill will?”  
  
“Arresting a citizen and royal family member of Wakanda- that would be ill will.”  
  
There he goes again, just a wonder to all of mankind, really- Erik needs to close his eyes. He turns away from T'Challa to stare at the hotel room door and desperately- desperately keep it together.  
  
“Erik?”  
  
He takes a deep breathe and does the buttons up one by one. Slowly. Very slow again. He only gets through three of them.  
  
“Can't say shit like that cuz. Dumb fuck like me, I'll actually believe it.” He has to stop then. His words hurt on par with T'Challa's so- At least they're not unmatched like that.  
  
“...I do not believe I misspoke.”  
  
His entire body shakes.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
They stand in silence for- Lord knows how long until T'Challa walks over and button's the rest of Erik's buttons for him. Erik stares at the floor, at T'Challa's bespoke loafers, at the mauve carpet, at literally anything other then his cousin's face.  
  
Erik can't decide if he wants T'Challa to take it back or not. He can't decide what's going to kill him more.  
  
“I ruined my life didn't I?”  
  
“My father ruined it for you.” They continue to not look at each other, and if Erik had been anyone else he's sure he wouldn't have heard the hurt in his ki- his cousin's voice.  
  
It's still hard to breathe when T'Challa holds Erik's suit jacket out for him. It takes him a minute to realize that T'Challa wants him to put his arms through it.  
  
Now he's dressed nice too. He feels like shit- but at least he looks nice.  
  
“I-”  
  
“You don't have to.” Erik says, fingers brushing down his lapels to do something- anything.  
  
“I-” He takes a moment, trying to figure out the right words or to pull himself together, Erik doesn't know.  “I've made mistakes. I've handled this situation poorly, haven't I?”  
  
“Don't be to hard on yourself. I don't think anyone would be good at this.”  
  
“...” T'Challa smiles for a second, Erik sees it in the mirror. “You should take your own advice, cousin.”  
  
Erik doesn't know what to say to that so he just shrugs. There's no way to navigate out of this- this- This carefully. He closes his eyes instead. He feels light on his feet- like the smallest thing will send him over some dangerous edge again.  
  
“There's no- no hurry. No hurry for you to feel better. I-” He can hear fabric moving, T'Challa probably adjusting his scarf. “I brushed your feelings-” Another pause. “Your state aside because I thought if you didn't talk about it then you were over coming it. And it was easy to believe that you were, with all of the things I know you've done in the past.”  
  
He's a monster after all. No need to forget that.  
  
“I- I mean, you almost killed me.” Before Erik can say anything T'Challa keeps going. “It's kind of- maybe I wanted to- Maybe I rushed over it as you are rushing over things yourself. I- I don't want to be like my father, Erik. I don't want to rush to cover things. To pretend that years of history just didn't happen because it was inconvenient.  
  
“...Yeah.”  
  
“...I'm having a hard time getting the words out.”  
  
“Understandable.”  
  
“Erik.”  
  
Erik opens his eyes too look at him.  
  
“I neglected the agony you must be mulling over every day because I didn't know how to handle it. I have made mistakes. I don't want forgiveness.” He insists almost as fast. “I just- I-” Erik can see all of the words he tries to fit into the sentence that fail him.  
  
“I get it- this isn't the best time for a breakdown.”  
  
“No.” T'Challa agrees, almost bitterly, “It's not. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't have one if it helps you.”  
  
Erik almost laughs again. His eyes sting. His throat burns.  
  
“When I found out my father had-”  
  
“Had killed mine?” T'Challa nods slowly. Nice to know they both have issues, at least.  
  
“I thought I had mourned him enough, by that point. I was wrong. Hearing that it- it almost killed him in my eyes all over again.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
There's a knock at the door. It startles both of them and he hears T'Challa wipe at his face.  
  
“I don't know the answers to how to fix this.” His cousin says. “But I don't want you to have to suffer alone.”  
  
Erik nods quietly, and brushes past him to wash his face in the sink.  
  
They both take a minute of silence before standing in the hallway again.  
  
“Hey,  you have the speech written down right?”  T'Challa looks at him slowly, nodding. “Cause if you waffle like that in front of a bunch of stuck up old assholes you'll be laughed out of the room.”  
  
His cousin laughs and punches him in the shoulder.  
  
Erik punches back.  
  
There's another knock on the door that Erik steps in front of the King to open and ends up face to face with Okoye glaring at him. She looks very pointedly over his shoulder.  
  
“They're waiting.”  
  
He sighs and nods, putting a hand on Erik's shoulder.  
  
“Let's go.” There's a smile on his face that makes it so easy for Erik to pretend the past five minutes didn't happen. It lets him breathe a little easier.

"Let's go."

Erik follows.

...

 

The speech goes well. Erik hovers by T'Challa's side and he watches every single delegate carefully. Searches for recognition on their faces and doesn't find any.

Except for Everett Ross.

Everett Ross turns out to be a weaselly looking jumped up white dude who Erik hates almost immediately, the second he tried to look like he was bigger to intimidate him.  
  
It's bullshit.

It's a bullshit tactic he's seen his entire life, from foster care to the military, and it only worked once, when Shuri electrocuted him a couple of times. The back up to the threat is always the most important part. And this fuck didn't have any backup.  
  
At least, if T'Challa was being honest and this wasn't the longest con he'd ever been on the receiving end off.

Erik knows how to deal with this though.  
  
“CIA's really slumming it huh?” He asks T'Challa over the man's head. “Really gone down since I've had to deal with them.”

“He's a war criminal- you can't just open borders and spread peace while harboring a war criminal.” The man shrills. Erik rolls his eyes and looks over to Nakia, winking.  
  
“Can you believe this guy?”

Erik can't recall her ever looking this startled, but then he hasn't known her for long and maybe he shouldn't have winked when Okoye was in the room.  
  
“Listen- he's not only on My watchlist okay?”

“Ross- It's alright.” T'Challa insists. “Erik Stevens was legally declared dead a month ago.”  
  
“Oh- R-Really? Because he looks very much alive!”  
  
Nakia had been the one to tell him, in passing over a meal he was trying to have alone. That they declared him dead with pictures of his body, a report and everything. It was kind of fucked- mostly because no one forwarded him his well earned reward money.  
  
“Who is going to believe that- he hasn't changed anything about his appearance!”  
  
“Hey- don't talk about me like I'm not in the room.” Erik stares down at him. “Shit's rude.”  
  
“He doesn't sound dead your highness!”  
  
T'Challa's smile hasn't left his face since they got in the room. At least that's something Erik doesn't have to feel guilty about.

“Everett.” T'Challa puts on his nice voice and Erik rolls his eyes again. “It's all right.”  
  
“It's not-”  
  
“It is.” T'Challa insists. “He's a citizen of Wakanda and a member of the royal family. Always has been always will be.”  
  
It still shakes him, but hearing it a second time is enough of a defense to keep himself together. He'd never let himself live it down if he cried in front of this short fuck.  
  
“And when the director of the FBI asks me about him I- what? Lie?”  
  
“Mmhm.” Okoye finally makes a sounds, tilting her head him. “Not too hard, is it?”  
  
Erik smiles.  
  
“Yeah. Bet you do it all the time anyway.”  
  
She looks away, obviously unhappy to be helping him.  
  
“Your majesty-”  
  
“Everett, we live in a world where aliens fall from the sky on a daily basis- is it so hard to believe that two people look similar.” Nakia smiles at him. “N'Jadaka happens to looksomewhat similar to Erik Stevens. These things do happen.”

Eric's finally glad for the warning she gave him a week ago. He doesn't know why he didn't connect the dots until this moment.

“I-” He waves a hand. “He's the same person!”  
  
“So what you're saying is all black people look the same?” Erik smiles. “Cause that's what I'm hearing, and that ain't to progressive for the head of the CIA is it? I mean- in 2018? Really?”

At least some shit always feels good to do.

Everett Ross turns around and walks out of the room to fume in the hallway.

Erik laughs.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> if people like it i'll do more 
> 
> idk
> 
> [yell at me](http://iamalivenow.tumblr.com/)


End file.
